


Father's Day

by SpideyFics



Series: Recognition [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hospital, Irondad, Peter Parker is a Good Dad, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideyFics/pseuds/SpideyFics
Summary: Peter looked down at his daughter. Her face was flushed, and her long, messy curls were damp with sweat as she slept sprawled across his body, her breathing congested and snotty. He gently wriggled himself into a slightly more comfortable position, resigning himself to a couple more hours trapped in the reclining chair that they’d slept in all night, Isabella refusing to sleep in the hospital bed.Peter and MJ's daughter takes after her father in an unexpected way.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker and his child
Series: Recognition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797565
Comments: 25
Kudos: 180
Collections: Peter Parker is a Good Dad





	Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> This quiet little fic is part of the "Peter Parker is a Good Dad" Father's Day Challenge set by the lovely Seekrest, who will shout to anyone who will listen that Peter Parker is a Good Dad (and she's right).
> 
> This is set in the same universe as Recognition, and features an appearance from Tamara, the child life specialist in that story. I'm hoping to add to this series in the future, so watch this space!
> 
> No beta, as I finished this thirty minutes before the end of Father's Day and I wanted to get it posted.

Peter looked down at his daughter. Her face was flushed, and her long, messy curls were damp with sweat as she slept sprawled across his body, her breathing congested and snotty. He gently wriggled himself into a slightly more comfortable position, resigning himself to a couple more hours trapped in the reclining chair that they’d slept in all night, Isabella refusing to sleep in the hospital bed.

When they’d found out that MJ was pregnant, their main worry was that his mutated DNA would affect their child. They only relaxed a little after Helen Cho ran a huge number of tests both before and after the birth, and assured them that the baby was fine.

They hadn’t imagined that Isabella would inherit Peter’s long-forgotten asthma, until a cold had escalated into a fully-fledged asthma attack that sent Peter running into the ER with Isabella in his arms, terrifyingly limp and lips blue.

A year later, and they were used to dealing with a chronically ill four-year-old, Peter falling back into his old childhood routines of peak flow monitoring, steroids, nebulizers and unplanned admissions to hospital. As the stay-at-home parent, he was typically the one to stay with Isabella, MJ’s job as a civil rights attorney making it difficult for her to take unscheduled time off.

Isabella shifted in his arms, her hand coming up to fuss with the oxygen prongs in her nostrils. He stilled her fidgeting fingers and kissed the top of her head as she sighed and settled back into deep sleep.

He dozed for a while, listening to the quiet sounds of the ward waking up. The buzz of his phone pulled him from his snooze, and he fumbled to find it down the side of the chair, swiping to accept the video call from his wife. “Hey, Em,” he whispered, mindful of the sleeping child in his arms.

“Morning,” she said. “How’s our girl?”

He angled the phone so MJ could see Isabella curled up against his chest. “Better. Though she had to go back on oxygen at 3am when her levels dropped in her sleep, so she won’t be discharged this morning like we hoped. I’m gonna take her to the playroom later, see if I can tire her out enough to have a nap so we can try going without oxygen again.”

MJ scrubbed a hand through her hair. She looked more exhausted than he felt, and he’d slept on a foldout bed for the last three nights. “I’ll be with you around one. I’m completely swamped with the Moore case, otherwise I’d be there sooner. Sorry, I know you’ve not had a break.”

“It’s fine, Em,” he assured her, knowing how guilty she felt about juggling being a mother and a demanding job. “We’re OK. I introduced Isabella to LazyTown so we’re binge-watching that and napping.”

“Mommy?” Isabella suddenly pushed herself off Peter’s chest and squirmed around in his lap until she could see MJ. “Hi Mommy.”

“Hi baby,” MJ smiled, placing her fingertips to her mouth and blowing a kiss. “Daddy says you’re feeling better.”

“Uh huh,” Isabella said. “Doctor Lucy said I can go to the playroom today.”

“She did? That’s great, Izzy. I’m coming to see you and Daddy after lunch, OK?”

“OK, Mommy.” Isabella snuggled back into Peter, tucking her head under his chin, one of her hands coming up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

MJ watched her, a wistful expression on her face. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I miss you.”

“We miss you too,” Peter told her. “Go finish your work, we’re good. I love you.”

“Love you,” MJ echoed, before ending the call.

Peter tossed the phone on to Isabella’s empty bed. “Hey, Izzy. Let’s sort your hair out, and get you changed into some proper clothes. Then we can have breakfast and we can go play. Sound good?”

She nodded, and he sat her on the bed so he could grab their shared toiletries bag, rummaging through the contents until he found the detangling spray and comb. He gently unraveled Isabella’s single braid and worked his way through the mass of waves and curls, teasing apart any knots he found. “One braid or two?” he asked her, as he finished combing out her hair.

“Two please,” Izzy said. “Upside down ones.”

Upside down meant Dutch braids. He parted her hair and quickly braided each side, fingers weaving each lock of hair into place, the movements almost automatic after many years of practice.

He was just twisting a hair tie around the bottom of the last braid when someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” he called, breaking into a smile as a woman he recognized walked in. “Tamara! Hey, how are you?”

“Tamara!” Isabella squealed. “Will you play with me?” She adored the ward’s child life specialist, much like her father had some twenty years ago, and Peter was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

“Hi, Ms. Busy Izzy,” Tamara said, crouching next to the bed and accepting Isabella’s hug. “Sure, we can play. How about I go ask the nurse if you can come off your oxygen and get you some breakfast, and then you can help me with something really special in the playroom while your dad has a shower?”

“Thanks, Tamara,” Peter said gratefully as he finished off the braid. There were only a few select people he’d leave Isabella with when she was in hospital, and Tamara was one of them. His memories of his own time in hospital as a child were mostly a blur, other than for Tamara and her child life colleagues; he just remembered having fun, and he hoped Isabella would feel the same when she was older.

“No, thank you, you know I love spending time with your girl.” She ran a hand over Isabella’s braids. “I see all those hours helping me braid the Barbies’ hair paid off,” she said with a laugh.

“I learned from the best,” he agreed. It had been fifteen – technically twenty - years since he’d last been a patient on this very ward, but every time he saw Tamara, he felt like he was a kid again. He’d known her for most of his life, and their relationship had evolved from patient and medical professional to almost-friendship when he’d started supporting the children’s unit as Spider-Man, with sponsorship from Tony. She was one of the few people in the world who knew he was Spider-Man, and she’d kept that secret for over a decade.

Thirty minutes later, Isabella and Tamara left the room hand in hand, Peter under strict instructions to shower and have breakfast, and to stay away from the playroom for at least an hour.

He was taking the stairs down to the cafeteria when Tony called. “Hi kid. I’m heading up to see you and my favorite tiny person. I have bagels.”

Peter gave a little fist pump as he ignored the door for the cafeteria floor and carried on down the stairs; bagels were way better than whatever was on offer in the cafeteria. “Meet me in the lobby, we can go sit in the park. Izzy is with Tamara, and I’m under orders to leave them alone for a while.”

Tony was waiting for him as he exited the stairwell, the paper bag of promised bagels swinging from his prosthetic hand. He swept Peter into a hug. “You look beat.”

“Three nights of sleeping in a chair bed with a clingy Izzy,” he said, making grabby hands in the direction of the bagel bag as they walked out into the bright June sunshine. “Feed me.”

Tony rolled his eyes and relinquished the bag. “Sure, Audrey II. Fill your boots.”

Peter clamped an everything bagel between his teeth and rolled the top of the bag back down. “Fank ‘oo,” he mumbled thickly.

“You’re an animal,” Tony tutted in mock disgust, but he slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders all the same as they headed into the small pocket park next to the children’s hospital. “Morgan and Pepper send their love. If Isabella isn’t home by tomorrow evening, they’re going to swing by for a visit.”

Settled on one of the many benches scattered around the park, Peter helped himself to another bagel, taking the time to add a thick smear of cream cheese. “I’m hoping Tamara will wear her out enough for a nap so we can see if she can sleep without oxygen, and then we’ll be out of here tonight.”

Tony took a cinnamon bagel from the bag. “Text me when you know for sure and I’ll have a car sent over, save you or Michelle having to drive.”

They sat in content silence, basking in the dappled sunshine flooding the park. It was early enough that they were the only people there, and it was peaceful enough that Peter found himself nodding off, the lack of sleep catching up with him.

“C’mon Pete, let’s head back inside,” Tony said quietly, a hand on his shoulder. “I need to cuddle that kid of yours and then I think you should join her in that nap.”

When they arrived in the playroom, Isabella was tucked against Tamara’s side, listening to a story. She grinned when she saw them, flying across the room to fling her arms around Tony’s legs. “Grandpa Tony!”

“Hey, munchkin. You look like you’re feeling better.” With a small _oof_ , Tony hoisted Isabella up onto his hip, and she burrowed her head into the crook of his shoulder and neck. “Hey Tamara. I’m still waiting for that wish-list update.”

Tamara laughed, standing up from the child-sized couch. “Tony, you buy us everything we need as soon as we even hint at it. There’s literally nothing we need right now.”

He frowned but let it go. “Peter has bagels for you. Hand ‘em over, Pete.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter held the bag out for Tamara. “You do this to me every time you bring bagels here.”

“Children need to learn that it’s good to share,” Tony said, as Isabella wriggled in his arms in an attempt to get down. He set her on the floor, and she skipped off to the art table.

“I’m literally thirty years old, I learned how to share a long time ago.”

“Then stop pouting about bagels. And I was talking about Izzy, but hey, you’re the one who assumed I was talking about you.”

Tamara laughed at them. “I swear you two never stop bickering. Thanks for the bagels.” She crouched down next to Isabella. “I have to go, but I’ll come and say bye before I go home.”

Once Tamara had left, they headed back to the room, Isabella quiet and sleepy in Peter’s arms, a piece of paper clutched in her hand. She handed it to Peter as they settled back into the chair. “Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.”

Caught up as they were in the bubble of hospital time, where days lost all meaning, Peter had missed the fact that it was Father’s Day. “Thanks, baby,” he said, kissing his daughter’s forehead.

The card was neatly folded to look like a shirt and a red and gold striped tie. A shirt and tie was more MJ’s style than Peter’s preferred dad uniform of jeans and a tee, but when Isabella directed him to carefully pull apart the card, the shirt split down the middle to show the Spider-Man suit beneath. The back of the card read “To DaDDy LovE iZZy” in Isabella’s uneven handwriting, enclosed in a lopsided love heart.

“You made this?” he said, showing it to Tony who was sitting on the end of Isabella’s bed.

“Tamara helped me,” Isabella yawned, curling into Peter’s chest. “Daddy, ‘m tired.”

He quickly freed the sats sensor lead from where he’d tucked it into the back of her pajama pants, reconnecting it to the cable that led to the monitor. “Say bye to Grandpa Tony,” he told her as her eyes started to flutter closed.

“Bye Gran’pa,” she mumbled.

Tony leaned in to kiss her temple. “Bye, honey. I’ll see you soon.” He watched as Isabella drifted off to sleep, his face softened with fondness. “Pete, you should get some sleep too. I’ll let the nurses know she’s asleep on the way out so they can listen for the monitor.” He kissed Peter in the exact same place he’d kissed Isabella.

“Sorry,” Peter said, even as sleep threatened to tug him under. “You came out all this way and I fall asleep on you.”

Tony patted his cheek, his hand lingering for a moment, and Peter instinctively turned his face into the swell of Tony’s palm, like he was fifteen again and sleeping off an injury in the medbay. “Just sleep, alright? Text me later when you know what’s happening with little miss.”

Peter hummed, his eyes already closing of their own accord. “Mmmm. Happy Father’s Day, Tony.”

“Happy Father’s Day, kid.”

Peter was asleep before Tony left the room.


End file.
